


Flashbacks

by NotVerySmol



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Child Abuse, Flashbacks, Hurt No Comfort, I can't think of tags, I honestly wanted this to have a happy spideypool ending, Triggers, Whipping, Whump, and not in the kinky way, but i like this ending better, i guess, we all know he breaks out of weapon x, well kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 05:36:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20925029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotVerySmol/pseuds/NotVerySmol
Summary: During his stay at Weapon X, Wade finds himself having flashbacks to his childhood.





	Flashbacks

**Author's Note:**

> i found this from like 3 months ago and figured i might as well post it

"You don't get to surrender. You lose when I say you lose, you win when I say you win, you die when I say you die. I haven't said you can die yet. So get_ up_. You have an appointment with the doctors again."

Francis sneered down at Wade. The dark room cast shadows on his face, distorting it until he looked eerily similar to Him. Slowly, his face morphed, until Wade could've sworn that he was looking at Him. And as Francis' face changed, so did his surroundings. Wade soon found himself back in his childhood prison- seeing as that place wasn't close to a proper home.

"Get _up_." He straightened up and threw a rag onto Wade's stomach. "And clean this mess." He stalked out of the kitchen, back to the well worn-out couch, and unpaused the TV. Wade sighed.

Honestly, this was a scene he'd found himself replaying a lot. Whenever he'd get panic attacks or just have flashbacks, more often than not he'd be reminded of this moment. There was nothing he could do (and he'd tried) but wait it out.

He slowly stood up, trying not to make noise even though he ached down to his bones. He picked up the rag and attempted to dodge the glass on the floor as he went to the sink to wet it. He wasn't successful.

Kneeling on the floor, he cleaned up the shards. He didn't even know where it was from at this point, could've been a plate, could've been a bowl or even a cup. Whatever it was, it didn't break into big or small pieces, no. Instead, the chunks were always just small enough to cut him if he touched them, but not small enough that he could just wipe them up. If he did wipe them up, he knew he'd just scratch the floor. So instead he patted the floor, and any piece that didn't stick to the rag he picked up with his fingers. And yeah, he bled, but he'd felt so much worse that at this point it didn't really matter.

As he stood up, pain flared through his head and he hissed. That was his first mistake.

"You'd better keep quiet in there, I'm _trying_ to watch TV!" Came a shout from the other room.

Wade nodded and, treading gingerly as to not shove the glass in his feet further into his feet, headed to the bathroom to clean himself up. But before he could get there-

"Hey, get over here and get me a drink!" Came the voice again.

Wade stopped halfway down the hall, let out an inaudible sigh, and turned around to go back to the kitchen. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and opened it. As he walked lightly to the living room, he glanced to his left to make sure it was still there. It was. 

On a dusty little table about halfway down the hall stood a picture in a frame. The frame itself was chipped and the glass was cracked, but the photo inside remained untouched: Him, his dad, and his mom. They were at a local park that Wade hadn't been to in over a year. He was on his mom's shoulders and his dad was next to them, holding the camera. All three of them were grinning like idiots, paying no attention to the dripping ice cream cones in their hands. It was taken a week before his mom got diagnosed with cancer, about two months before his dad started drinking himself into the ground. Two and a half before Wade first got hit. It had been two years now, and Wade was almost constantly in pain.

Wade was afraid that one day he'd look to his left, and the table would be empty.

"You a snail, boy? Hurry the hell up!" Strike two. 

Wade shook his head to clear his thoughts and walked into the living room, where He was sprawled out on the couch, feet on the coffee table. Wade gently set the bottle down on the end table, and almost turned to leave the room. He remembered himself last second, and what happened the last time he didn't follow the script. He stood with his feet together, back slouched, and tried to make himself as small as possible.

"Got anything to say to me?" He asked, eyes still on the screen. His posture was relaxed and so was His tone, but Wade knew better than to take that for granted. He shook his head no.

"Good. Now get out of here."

Wade turned to leave, but before he could even get out of the room-

"What's on your feet, boy?"

Wade looked down to his still-bloody feet and, with horror, the red footprints he had tracked all over the house.

Strike three.

"I'm sorry," He murmured, "I didn't mean to-!" His voice was cut off.

"Didn't mean to? Then_ why the hell did you_?" The hand that grasped the bottle tightened its grip.

"I was gonna clean them off, and then you called me for another beer, and-" 

"So it's my fault? It's_ my_ fault that you can't do a goddamn thing without fucking shit up?" He abruptly slammed the bottle down onto the coffee table and stood up, towering over Wade. 

"N-no, I didn't- I didn't mean-"

"Go to your room." And somehow, _somehow,_ the sudden calm in His voice was even more terrifying than the anger, because that meant He wouldn't just punch Wade a few times, no. The calm voice promised much worse things than punching, things that would take him days to recover from, and He would only get angrier that Wade couldn't obey Him like a slave (because who needs a proper son when they can just serve you on their hands and knees, right?), which would result in _more_ hitting and just an awful spiral that just kept going and going until Wade could grit his teeth and get back up properly again. 

"I said,_ go to your room_." And Wade went.

He sat on his bed. Staring down at his feet that didn't reach the ground, Wade watched the blood drip onto the floor. _Drip. Drip. Drip._

In the background, he heard the very faint _glug glug glug_ of a drink being chugged. And then there was the less faint _clunk_ of something being set down with a certain finality to it. A pause, and then the heavy sound of footsteps, growing closer ever so slowly. _Clonk. Clonk. Clonk. _

_ Drip. _

_ Drip. _

_ Drip. _

_ Drop. _

The footsteps reached his door, the handle turned, and _He_ stepped inside.

"Take off your belt." Wade took off his belt, the one where he had to make extra holes because it was too big. 

"Give it to me." Wade handed it over.

"Take off your pants." The _shh noise_ as they slid to the floor.

"Get on the bed." And Wade did, laying face down.

There was a small _clink_ as the belt was folded, two more _clonks_ as He stepped forward. A small noise as He drew his arm back, the _shhh_ as it whipped through the air and the hit landed. 

But not where he was expecting.

Wade tried to reach up to rub at his throbbing cheek, but his arm stayed firmly at his side. He opened his eyes (when did he close them?) and was met with the cold darkness of the laboratory. Francis glared down at him. 

"Next time I tell you to get up, you get up. Don't make me move you myself." The undertone in his voice made Wade want to melon-ball Francis' eyes out and stuff them down his throat, but he refrained. Once he got out of this hell hole, he'd follow through on that promise, but now was not the time.

"Now, hold still," Francis said casually, like people in decked out in lab coats, safety goggles and those weird dentist masks weren't approaching Wade. "Try your best not to kill him," He called over his shoulder as he walked to the door, "I have a feeling Wilson could make an excellent mutant- if he ever gets out of here."

They all laughed like they were sharing an inside joke, which they really weren't, seeing that Wade was just as aware he was probably never getting out of the facility as they were. Francis left the room. 

Suddenly getting down to business, the people pulled over a metal tray, similar to one that would hold a dentist's tools. _ Again_ with the dentists. Was it their aesthetic or something? 'Cause they were failing pretty bad- maybe if they gave out free toothbrushes and balloons with smiley faces on them Wade could _almost_ believe he wasn't being tortured within an inch of his life.

Almost.

They chatted amongst themselves while prepping their tools- how's your wife doing, Chad? Got any plans after work today? Apparently, Chad and his wife weren't doing so well, Wade concluded after watching who he assumed to be Chad storm out of the room, but that wasn't any of his business. What_ was_ his business, however, was the syringe that the remaining two dentists filled up with an icky purple liquid.

At this point in his stay at the Weapon X facility, Wade's healing power had been activated, but no one knew how effective it was. Wade almost wished that the purple stuff would kill him, but then he couldn't get revenge and burn the entire compound to the ground. So instead he just wished that whatever the purple liquid was, it would be painless.

Both he and the scientists knew it wasn't going to be.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! constructive criticism and just comments in general are appreciated :)


End file.
